Private affairs : a novel (17 page)

About what? Matt wondered, but didn't mention it to Elizabeth. Neither of them talked about Rourke; it was their last full day of skiing and they took advantage of it, weaving in and out of the trails on Bell Mountain until the lifts closed. They pulled off" their clothes, showered, and stretched out on the cushions in front of the fire where their vacation

had begun. "I think I've melted," Elizabeth sighed. "No more bones or muscles, just jelly."

Matt put his arms around her, holding her close, and they lay quietly, lulled to drowsiness on the soft pillows. "I don't want to move," he said. "Ever. I just want to hold you and love you and feel you against me, half of me, part of me."

"We can stay home." Elizabeth's lips barely moved against his chest. "Make an omelet, eat in front of the fire, pretend there's nobody else in the world."

"Sounds wonderful."

But after they dozed and woke to darkness, with only a few glowing coals in the fireplace, Matt rubbed his chin. "I'll have to shave before dinner. Do you have any idea what time it is?"

So much for the omelet, Elizabeth thought. She looked at her watch. "Six-thirty."

"Better get moving."

"How are we getting there?" she asked.

"He's sending a car."

"He's what?"

"He says he has a limousine picking us up at seven-thirty."

"You didn't tell me."

"It didn't seem important. He also mentioned a private plane. Limousine, plane, house on Red Mountain. Someday we'll have them, too."

"Fine," Elizabeth said absently, thinking about what she would wear.

"Are you wearing your white sweater?" Matt asked.

"I don't know. Why?"

"Because I bought you something. Wait here." He put a log on the fire and went into the bedroom, returning with a small white box. Elizabeth watched his nude body in the dancing light of the flames. Tall, lean, muscular, he moved with grace and a kind of coiled energy, as if he were holding himself back. Where would he leap if he had the chance? "To celebrate our week," he said, sitting beside her. "And to tell you I love you."

It was a Zuni necklace: ten ovals of silver filagree suspended in a V, each framing a polished sphere of deep red coral. "It's so beautiful. . . ." Elizabeth said softly.

He fastened it about her neck. "Nude with Necklace," he murmured, as if she were an oil painting. He kissed her mouth, her throat, her breasts. "My lovely and most loved Elizabeth. And now I'm going to get dressed."

Elizabeth stayed by the fire. She didn't want to go; she had no interest

in Rourke or his friend. Her hand touched the necklace. I could go as I am. Nude with Necklace. I'd certainly be noticed. And remembered. She smiled, then sighed. Get it over with. So we can be alone again.

As tall as Matt, and as lean, though twenty-eight years older, Keegan Rourke was silver-haired, with a thin, patrician nose, pale eyes, and the casual confidence of an impressively handsome man of wealth and power. At Krabloonik, he was the one who attracted attention. The restaurant, high in the mountains at Snowmass, was decorated in a style that managed to be both rustic and elegant, from its dark wood walls to the intimacy of its few tables and booths and the antique gas lamps hanging from the low ceiling. In the corner booth, Rourke sat across from Elizabeth, meeting her puzzled eyes with an admiring scrutiny. "You're as lovely as Tony said; far lovelier than the young woman I last saw on her wedding day . . . how long ago?"

"Seventeen years," Elizabeth replied. "Almost eighteen."

"My God, the years fly." Rourke shook his head. "I did visit Zachary once; he took me to Nuevo. You and Matt were away, probably skiing, now that I think about it. And I meant to stop by again to see you two, and Spencer and Lydia when they moved there, but it never worked out. Of course Tony kept me informed. Ah, Nicole," he said as a woman was led to their table. "May I present my friends. Elizabeth and Matthew Lovell: Nicole Renard. Nicole found acquaintances at the bar and stopped to talk with them. Wine, my dear? Or something else?"

With a swift glance at the others' wine glasses, Nicole adapted. "Wine, thank you." And as Rourke filled her glass she openly studied Matt and Elizabeth, her gaze moving slowly from the honey-dark hair framing Elizabeth's face to her white cashmere sweater and Zuni necklace, and then on to Matt.

She was the most strikingly beautiful woman Elizabeth had ever seen. Wearing black velvet pants and a black sweater beaded with jet, her black hair swept back from her face, she wore no makeup, letting her smooth features and heavy-lidded amber eyes impress with their own pale perfection. Elizabeth guessed she was about thirty; young, polished, aloof, she made Elizabeth suddenly aware of her age. But when Nicole turned back to her after an inspection of Matt, Elizabeth, returning look for look, saw the flaw in what had seemed perfect beauty: a small curve at the corners of her mouth, hinting at greed and calculation. But it was not easy to spot; only women whose husbands had received a long, measured look from those amber eyes would see it.

"How was Aspen Mountain?" Rourke asked, making conversation as

they studied the menu. "Good skiing over here. No crowds at Campground and we found a little devil of a run, Garret Gulch, . . ."

"It's been a quiet week," Matt said absently. He didn't want the obligatory discussion of skiing, or a lengthy debate over dinner. He always selected quickly and decisively at restaurants, impatient with those who wavered, and he was ready for Rourke to come to the point. He had been struck by Nicole's beauty and briefly curious—she was, he guessed, nearly forty years younger than Rourke—but it was not unusual in Aspen to find stunning young women in the company of wealthy men, and Matt was more interested in Rourke. "I wondered why you called my office—" he began, but the waitress interrupted, reciting the evening's specials.

When they had made their choices, Rourke ordered two bottles of Zinfandel and talked casually about skiing in St. Moritz, Gstaad, and Aspen. "Which do you prefer?" he asked Elizabeth.

"I have no idea," she said, "since we've never been to Europe."

"Never been—! I would have thought, surely you would have. ..."

Too polite to ask if it was money, Elizabeth thought. "We never found the time," she said simply.

"But you must find the time." Rourke was emphatic. "You and Matt are perfect for Europe because you'd get more from it than most people." He nodded to himself. "Certainly you must find a way to go."

It was as if he were dangling Europe before them, like bait, Elizabeth thought. "We plan to," she said briefly, uncomfortable and annoyed and wishing she could just ask him what he wanted. But they were all being very polite, so she said nothing else, turning to look out the window at the terrace, while Rourke talked about music festivals in Aspen, Salzburg, and the cathedral towns of England. Like Tony he controlled the conversation with a smooth voice and perfect timing. This was the father Tony had escaped, Elizabeth remembered: His shadow, the reach of his long arm. I'd like to escape, too, she thought. And as soon as we've eaten, we will, whether he's revealed his mysteries or not. I don't even care what they are.

Rourke was talking about ski lodges in Switzerland when the waitress brought their wild mushroom soup. He picked up his spoon. "Of course you should have a local agent check out any lodge for you before you make reservations. That's as true of Aspen as it is of St. Moritz. What changes are you and Milgrim planning for the Sun?"

It took a moment to sink in; then Matt said sharply, "That sale hasn't gone through."

"And it hasn't been made public," Elizabeth added. "And how do you know Saul? He's never worked in Houston."

Rourke chuckled. "I read the Chieftain; his name is on the masthead. And because my interests require accurate information, I have various sources reporting to me. Nothing mysterious about it."

Drama, Elizabeth thought. Just like Tony. Again.

"I like what you've done with the Chieftain," Rourke said to Matt. "Though I think you could have knocked out the Taos and Espanola papers if you'd staffed offices in those towns instead of hiring local reporters. Was Milgrim the cautious one? Or Elizabeth? I wouldn't say caution is one of your traits." Matt had put aside his soup and was watching Rourke, angry, baffled, reluctantly admiring. "And you're buying the Sun," Rourke went on, "because all you could afford in Albuquerque was a suburban paper. You asked a couple of bankers about the Daily News, but it wasn't for sale and you probably knew you couldn't afford it anyway, but you were storing information for the future. The Sun isn't big enough for you, of course, but you had to start somewhere. We really should pay attention to the soup; it's the best I've ever tasted."

He was right about everything, including the soup, Elizabeth thought. Rourke had switched subjects and was talking knowledgeably about picking chanterelle and giant boletus mushrooms around Lincoln Creek and Cobey Park. "Aspen has always been a favorite of mine, winter and summer. And I like the top of Red Mountain—superb views of town and the valley. You might want to use the house sometime."

"When I'm no longer starting out on papers too small for me," Matt said evenly.

Rourke laughed. "You'll always be starting, Matt; there'll be another challenge for you around every corner." He held Matt's dark eyes with his pale ones. "I've been looking around corners all my life, going after whatever I discovered there. I don't find that in many other men." He refilled their glasses, slowly, deliberately, letting the silence stretch out.

"Go on," Matt said, knowing he'd lost a small battle of wills by letting Rourke force him to break the silence.

Rourke nodded. "I own two newspapers, the Albuquerque Daily News and the Houston Record. You would have found Rourke Enterprises as the owner of the Daily News if you'd checked in Ayer, but since it wasn't for sale, you didn't bother. I need a publisher for both papers. And to buy others."

After a moment, Matt asked, "How many others?"

"Who knows?" Rourke spread his hands, large-knuckled, with manicured nails. "Must there be a limit at the outset?"

"No." It was so husky it was almost lost. Must there be a limit? The

vagueness was more seductive than a specific number. "Where would you stan?"

Rourke listed a string of cities, suburbs, and small towns between Houston and Los Angeles. Elizabeth was stunned: if he meant what he said, he was planning one of the largest newspaper chains in the country. He described the towns and their areas, familiar with the history and rough demographics of every one. And the descriptions, played out like a film narrated in his smooth voice, brought to life images and ideas Matt had been storing up for years. He heard Rourke through the churning of a hunger that the purchase of the Chieftain had only whened. If I had all those to work with ... He took a deep breath. "Why those?" he asked.

"Because they're the future of the sun belt. High-tech industries will move into some of them as living costs in California get too high; others are future retirement cities; others will be major resorts. Populations will grow, businesses and shopping malls will follow, transportation will boom. As a whole, it will be a nice power base for someone who gets in early and gives all those people and businesses modern, savvy newspapers." Elizabeth caught the odd word, sticking out like a small thorn in Rourke's suave speech, as if he wanted to make sure he had their attention.

Well, he has mine, she thought. The enormity of his dream—and he made it sound so simple!—had caught her imagination, and she knew from the pitch of Matt's body, leaning forward as if to follow wherever Rourke led, it had caught his, too. She thought of their little empire. It had been swallowed up in Rourke's dream. And if we're here, doesn't that mean he wants us as part of it?

The waitress put Matt's dinner before him and he stared at it. "What did I order?" he asked Elizabeth.

"Venison," she said quietly, loving him, knowing he probably had leaped ahead and was already planning how they would run the whole—

The thought came to an abrupt stop. How they would run it? Who had said anything about they?

She thought back over the past hour. Rourke had talked to her twice: about traveling to Europe and about how lovely she looked. As lovely as Tony said. He and Tony had been talking about her. And about Matt. And he'd been reading the Chieftain. And he'd called Santa Fe looking for Matt.

He wanted Matt, but what about her? He was dangling the bait of a newspaper chain in front of Matt, but where did Matt's wife come into it?

This is our dream he's playing with. Our life.

No; he'd gone beyond that. Keegan Rourke was talking not about their shared plans, but about Matt's ambition.

"Power base for what?" Matt asked Rourke.

"There are always uses for power." Rourke sliced into his buffalo steak. "Must it be limited with specifics at the outset?"

That seductive vagueness, again, Elizabeth thought. "What's wrong with being specific?" she asked.

Rourke smiled at her. "Nothing—at the proper time."

"It seems to me," she said, "that it's always good to be specific about information, unless you're hiding something."

"Ah." He nodded. "That may be. But the easiest way to hide something is to give the wrong information." He waited for Elizabeth to re-spond, but she was silent.

Rourke took a deliberate bite of buffalo, sipped his wine, then with a small smile in Elizabeth's direction, turned again to Matt. "Let's play a little game. I'm interested in buying newspapers. I have in my wallet two hundred million dollars. I want to spend it and increase it through profits. I ask your advice. What would you suggest?"

Get a bigger wallet, thought Elizabeth wildly, and a small laugh broke from her. But no one laughed with her. Nicole slid her glance briefly to Elizabeth, then back to the men. Rourke smiled once again, courteously. Matt gave her a quick glance, too preoccupied to ask why she laughed, then answered Rourke.

"I'd buy newspapers and television stations in key cities, and tie them together. Special sections and programs each week on local events—put fifty people on those alone, move them to different cities as I needed them. I'd run contests that could be entered only by families—no individuals. I'd run a weekly full page of cartoons on local and national issues and do an animated version of them on television one night a week, for adults, not kids, combined with some kind of no-holds-barred debate on the cartoons plus editorials and features from that week's papers. I'd organize town meetings, televise them, and print excerpts to give to schools for classes in government and politics. . . ."